


What Me Worry

by ellieoh



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-13
Updated: 2015-05-13
Packaged: 2018-03-30 09:42:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3932110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellieoh/pseuds/ellieoh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern AU. When Sansa has no one else to call after an intense moment with Joffrey, it sets forth into motion a series of events that change the person she is becoming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For a Modern AU challenge over on ff.net. There is some violence and Joffrey being generally insufferable, so be forewarned. Otherwise, alls good.

She leaned her head against the car window, ignoring the angry sighs and pissed off glares that he was throwing her way. This had all happened before, and it was certainly bound to happen again. He was mad at her because she had spoken out of turn and disagreed with him in public, he didn't like to be made a fool of, and he certainly didn't like when it was she who made him the fool. He liked her submissive and pretty, without a single thought in her head, obeying and abiding his rules and wishes.

That had never been her.

She might've been more of a lady than Arya, but she was still a Stark and her sister wasn't the only one with an attitude. But, he would never see that, he had never seen it. Never bothered to look past her pretty smiles and simpering eyes to see what she was really like. She wasn't a caged bird or a kept woman, but he didn't see that part of her. And, she hadn't let him.

Their relationship was horrid, and it wasn't only his fault.

That realization stung more than it should've the first time she stumbled across the notion. Joffrey was a sadistic asshole who would definitely end up becoming a sociopath, but she let him get away with it. She let him degrade her in front of his friends, his family. She let him push her around and bruise her flesh. She let him. And that made her sicker than anything he'd ever done.

She wasn't even sure what to do anymore. She didn't love him. She hadn't loved him for a long time, but she couldn't leave him, because then she would be proving everyone right. And she really didn't want to see the condescending I told you so in her mother's eyes. She didn't want Jeyne and Arya, Margaery, or even Jon and Robb to look at her with that painful mixture of pity and validation.

She heard him annoyingly sigh again, she didn't look over at him, which she knew pissed him off further. She shouldn't play with fire, but, she was just so over this whole situation that she couldn't help herself. She just kept her head tucked against the window, the cool winter air making the glass cold and soothing her warm skin. She could feel him looking at her, feel his hot gaze on her, it would only be a matter of time before he stopped with the sighing and started to yell. She'd wait.

He fed off of her fear, her pain, and occasionally, her futile efforts to fight back. Which is why nothing pissed him off quite like being ignored. Being the oldest son and heir to a multimillion dollar corporation fed that great ego of his, and made sure that all his pathetic whims and desires were met. She had certainly attended to a few.

He had been the most beautiful boy she'd ever seen. She realized now just how naïve and stupid she actually was, that beauty amounted to nothing, but back in Middle School, she couldn't imagine herself marrying anyone other than him. Back then, she'd wanted nothing more than to be kissed by the handsome boy and grow up to become his perfect wife and have his beautiful blonde babies.

She supposed he'd always been cruel, he had just been better at hiding it back then, back before they started dating and she became his favorite whipping post. Maybe she just brought out the worst in him, he certainly brought out the worst in her.

She had never hated herself quite as much as she did these days. She hated who she was, who she had become, the way she acted, the things she said. Deep down she knew that she wasn't a petty bitch, that she cared about more than just being a trophy wife and helping Joffrey run for Governor someday, that she was more than just something to dangle off his arm. She had a voice, and thoughts, and not all of them were about being High School royalty as they once were.

She wondered how long she could let herself go on like this. How much longer she could stay with someone so cruel, who didn't truly seem to care about her at all.

She realized then that their relationship had become nothing more than one of mutual ambition, they both wanted things, they were using each other to gain them. But, the idea of having that perfect life, with the big house and a grand amount of money did nothing for her anymore. She couldn't stand the idea of waking up next to him every day and lying next to the man who hurt her every night.

The problem was, she didn't know how to leave. A part of her was scared to.

Who was she without Joffrey? It's who she'd been for the past four years; Joffrey's girlfriend, the future Mrs. Baratheon. How could she go back to being just Sansa?

He hadn't begun yelling yet, which unsettled her a bit. He was usually true to form when it came to being pissed off at her. It started with the glares, then the tightened jaw and heavy sighs, that quickly turning into yelling and degrading comments about her, which then lead to the blows. He'd busted her lip once, just once. He never made that mistake again. Her brothers had seen it and flipped out, begging her to tell them if it'd been him, she'd lied and said it was some girl in her gym class that elbowed her during soccer. He usually struck her in places no one else would see, that no one else had seen, except him.

The fact that he wasn't following his usual pattern was starting to worry her. He hadn't said a word since they left the party. Not a single word. He had sighed in anger, but now even that had stopped. She didn't chance the look over to him, not wanting him to feel her gaze on his skin. Afraid of how he'd react if he saw her cowering. It was almost worse than being defiant, almost. 

She was patient, she'd sit through the heavy silence, filled only with the thunderous sound of her heart beating in her ears, and wait for the car ride to be over. It was snowing, that was the only thought she'd been able to let slip through her mind before he stopped the car. 

They were on the long county road that would take them back to their part of town from where the party had taken place. The road was surrounded by woods on either side for miles, empty at this time of night, and dark without street lamps. He had pulled off to the side a bit, but it wouldn't have mattered if he didn't, it was two-thirty on a snowy friday night, no one was driving through.

She chanced a look over to him now, he was staring at his hands that were gripping the steering wheel, the car in park but still running. His jaw was clenched and his eyes narrowed slightly. She knew that look, unfortunately. But, she wasn't about to show him how much he frightened her. She could be brave, if Arya could be brave, than so could she. She channeled a bit of her sister and turned to face him, “Why did you stop?”

He turned on her then, his green eyes cold. He hadn't regarded her with any warmth in a long time, if he ever actually had. She was convinced he was just a charming manipulator, letting her believe what she wanted from him, which had been love. Maybe he had loved her once, but he certainly didn't now.

“Who said you could speak?”

Her eyes narrowed at him in a display of courage and strength she didn't always possess. “Last time I checked, I don't have to ask you for that right.”

He slapped her quickly, her hand coming up to press against the stinging flesh. She was a little shocked, not because he'd struck her, but that he'd hit her in the face. He rounded on her then, yelling at her as she expected him to. “What's it going to take for you to learn some respect? You don't speak to me like that, understand? And you certainly don't contradict me in front of others.”

Her eyes were a bit watery from the slap, but she defiantly kept them locked with his, instead of downcast as he wanted them. “You know what, Joffrey, I'm sick of you treating me like chattel instead of your girlfriend!”

He had his seatbelt undone and his hand around her throat faster than she could even blink, her back and shoulders were against the door of his Mercedes, her hands grabbing at his wrist. “You are what I decide you are, nothing more.” He gave one last squeeze, his eyes narrowed before he released her. She sucked in deep tuffs of air, coughing a few times. “I've about had it with your shit, Sansa. I mean it. I won't put up with much more.”

She quickly unbuckled her own seatbelt, reaching down into her purse for a bottle of water, hoping that would sooth her aching throat. She could care less what Joffrey was going on about, wanting nothing more than to just get out of the car and go home. He was saying something about her being a prudish whore – which, made no sense – when she opened up the car door and made to get out. He grabbed her wrist tightly, causing her to cry out and drop her purse on the snow covered ground outside of the car.

“Joffrey, let go.”

“What do you think you're doing?”

She met his sharp gaze, the anger radiating off both of them. For once, she wasn't scared of him, she knew this had to be done, that it was the best thing for her. She knew that he knew it too.

“I'm leaving. I'm done, Joffrey. We're not good together, you know it, I know it, your mother knows it, everyone knows it. I – I don't love you anymore,” She faltered a bit, uncomfortable with the declaration, even though it was true. “We're just... wasting our time.”

A look passed over his features that she hadn't seen before, he finally understood. She almost smiled, her soft eyes boring into his intense ones, she felt the grip on her wrist subside. “I'm sorry you feel that way, Sansa.” She let out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding, relief flooding her veins. She'd done it, she'd broken up with him, and he hadn't taken it as low as she would've thought. She started to give him a sad smile, about to open her mouth and speak when he'd cut her off with a punch to the face. “But, that's not how this works, and you know it.”

She felt the pain in her left eye, radiating down to her cheekbone and nose. She wondered through the throbbing if he'd broken her eye socket, her cheekbone, or her nose, maybe all three. He'd hit her before, but he'd never done extensive lasting damage. No, Joffrey was more psychological than that, he preferred to mentally abuse her, creating scars in different ways. Apparently she had brought out something different in him tonight, lucky her.

He pushed her onto the seat on her back, causing her to cry out. “Joffrey, stop, please. I'm sorry, please.”

But, he wasn't listening. “Maybe this will teach you to respect me, I have the authority here, not you.”

She had her hands up in front of her face, shielding herself from another blow. “Please, I'm sorry. I won't tell anyone, just please, let's go home.”

He leaned back for a moment, thinking over what she'd offered, before a thought struck him. “Of course you'd never tell anyone, why would you even say that?” His eyes narrowed and his hands went to her throat again, the cool air from the open car door making her shiver. “Who have you told? Who?” She was coughing and sputtering, shaking her head to try and tell him no one, but he just kept pressing his hands into the soft flesh of her throat and yelling. “Who, Sansa! Who have you told!”

She released her hands from where they had been prying at his wrists, trying to get him to alleviate some of the pressure, and did the only thing she could think of as her sides of her vision began to turn black. She punched him. Right in the eye. 

She wasn't sure how hard she'd actually hit him, if it'd leave a bruise or not, but it was enough for him to release her and place a hand over his eye. An intense look passed over his features, it should've frightened her, but all she could think about was that she could breath again. She gulped down huge lung fulls of air, twisting over and trying to crawl out from under him and out the opened car door. She heard him curse, before pulling back at her waist a bit, causing her to cry out again.

He grabbed a fistful of her long hair, pulling her head back so he could look at her as he growled. “Fuck, Sansa, that's it. I've tried to play nice, but you just can't follow along, can you? As a punishment, I'm going to fuck you now, and you're going to bleed, and you're going to like it.”

He released her hair and started pulling at her leggings, she was cursing the stretchy fabric and hating herself for not listening to Arya about it being cold and wearing skinny jeans instead, which would've been harder to pull off. But, she hadn't listened and wanted to look cute, and instead wore the black leggings that he was quite literally ripping from her body. She was screaming, her already sore throat protesting, but it didn't matter. The only one who heard her was Joffrey, and he got off on it.

They hadn't had sex yet, she was a virgin, and she was under the assumption that he was as well. He'd tried to pressure her into it a few times, but, she'd managed to placate him with a few well times hand-jobs and letting him do the same. He never really brought up the subject, just tried to take her clothes off when they were making out, and after she'd managed to divert him, he never really seemed to give that much of a shit whether they were fucking or not. She knew he wanted to, but he had never been so bold about it as he was now. 

But, after apparently nothing else having worked, he now had every intention of raping her into submission.

She tried to kick him off of her once he got to the bottom of her legs, but he dodged her awkward kick and pushed her over onto her back. He slapped her again, for good measure and she let herself still for a moment before kneeing him in the groin. He leaned back off of her, cupping his front, and giving her enough room to slither out from under him and push herself out the open car door. He caught her ankle as she did, causing her to scrape her thighs and exposed stomach on the bottom of the doorway, her forearms sliding against the ground and starting to bleed. 

She kicked him again with her free foot, the angle she was at now, giving her more access. She got him in the chest, which sent him back a bit, letting her push the rest of the way out onto the snowy road. Her leggings were still bunched around her ankles, her boots in the way of them fully coming off, causing her to be clumsy on her feet, and she was still woozy from being choked. 

She was trying to pull up her pants when he made his way out of the car and over to where she stood. He caught her around the waist and threw her on the hood of his car, it burned her exposed flesh, hot from still running.

She was face down on the hood, screaming and thrashing, doing everything the could think of that her brothers had taught her, that Arya had told her, anything and everything. He was pulling her pants the rest of the way off, her boots coming with them, leaving her in wet socks on the snowy ground and her underwear, that was it. 

Struggling to flip herself over onto her back, she just ended up sliding down the front and scratching the exposed skin on the front end of the car. She could tell she was bleeding, from where, she wasn't sure, but Joffrey was paying no mind behind her as she struggled against him.

She did finally manage to push away from him, sliding down onto the ground, rolling on her back to kick him again. She might not've had much upper body strength to push him away, but she had played soccer for the majority of her youth and could land a mean kick, she knew she legs were her best asset in this situation. 

She had landed a kick to his stomach, winding him for a moment, letting her hop up onto her hands and knees and start to crawl away. She hadn't expected the swift kick in return. 

The wind left her lungs, causing her to land on her side, crouching in the fetal position as he kicked her again. He stopped momentarily, but she wasn't fooled into thinking he was done with her and kept her position curled into herself. She felt him try and uncoil her, and her just kept kicking her legs out as hard as they'd go, hoping to land a few blows. He laid on her legs, grabbing her arms and pinning her down, flipping her over so she was on her stomach and pushing her face into the ground.

He pushed his knee in between her thighs and spread her legs. She couldn't help her sobbing, the painful ugly crying that she was now partaking in, the fight starting to drain out of her. She wriggled beneath him, trying to inch herself away from him, but he just held her face down with one hand and tried to tear her underwear with the other. 

It was the sound of his cell phone from inside the car the broke the moment. She knew it was his by the ringtone, and they both knew who it was. If it had been Cersei calling, he would've ignored it and kept torturing her, but it was his father, and he didn't dare keep him waiting.

Robert had many good qualities about him, but it was the many he had in common with Joffrey that kept the boy from ignoring the call. He pushed her face harder into the wet asphalt, causing her to cry out from pain. “Don't move.” He slowly pulled himself up from her and made her way around towards the drivers side, once she heard him open the door and answer the phone, she picked herself up off the ground and moved away from the car as quickly as her legs would carry her. She kept her front towards him at all times, wanting to know if he was coming. She couldn't exactly see him past the bright head lights, but she kept her distance and waited. 

She watched as the passenger side door close and the car slowly pulled forward towards her, he rolled down the window when he was beside her. His eyes were dark and narrowed, full of malice and frustration. She could see that the top of his cheekbone was starting to bruise. She kept his gaze, standing her ground, but also stepping back out of his reach. He spoke finally, slowly and full of promise. “I hope you've learned your lesson, my love.” He rolled up the window, his gaze still connected with her's, and took off down the empty road, leaving her alone.

She took a deep breath and let out the shaky sobs that threatened to take over her body, her eyes burning, her face and body throbbing as she cried. She felt to her knees in the snow, heavily sobbing and choking on her own breaths. She didn't feel the cold, or most of the pain, her adrenaline still coursing, but she knew she needed to get it together before someone came across her like this and did more damage than Joffrey had.

She pushed herself to her feet, and on unsteady legs she brought herself over to where the car had been, her pants and shoes were tossed to the side, her purse was where she had accidentally dropped it out of the car. She pulled on her wet leggings, ignoring the slight rips in the back, her boots next, her toes frozen from wearing only thin socks. Her jacket had been in the back of Joffrey's car, finding it useless for the indoor party they'd attended and the stifling heat of the car enough to keep the chill away. She felt it now though, as she started to come down from the high of fighting back, her heart pumping normally again. 

She went to her purse and dug around for her cell phone, not knowing who to call. She couldn't call her parents, not ready to face them with what had just transpired, knowing that her father would kill Joffrey and quit his job, causing a strain between him and Robert. She couldn't call Robb or Jon, that was out of the question. Arya couldn't drive, the last thing she wanted was Margaery to see her like this and let it slip. She could've called Jeyne, who had come to get her last time things had went badly with Joff, but, it hadn't been this bad. After that, Jeyne had pestered her nonstop about when she was going to tell someone, or break up with him. She couldn't deal with that, not now. 

That left no one. She had no one. 

She, Sansa Stark, the popular princess with swarms of friends, a devoted family, and the idealistic boyfriend, had been reduced to the loneliest girl in the world with no one to call for help. The notion stung.

She bit back another sob, this time one of helplessness at being stranded after an attempted rape, and thumbed through the contacts in her phone, trying to find someone that would come for her. Her hand hesitated over the numbers of Arya's closest friends, Gendry certainly would come get her in an instant, but, he'd never keep something like this from Arya. Brienne was pretty noble too, kind of like Ned in that way, she'd want to do the right thing and tell her parents, tell the police, get her to the hospital. Sansa couldn't have any of that either. She paused over the last of Arya's best friends, knowing he was less than honorable, and if he even answered the phone and agreed to it, he most likely wouldn't say a word.

It was the best she had in this moment, and she felt herself pressing the call button before she could talk herself out of it. It rang once, twice, three times, and she felt her eyes start to water and panic bubble up in her chest. One the fourth ring, he answered. “Hello?” He sounded suspicious, and a tad concerned, seeing as how she never called him. Ever.

She tried not to let her voice wavier at the sound of his deep growl, she pushed back the tears and addressed him as she normally did. “Clegane?”

“Sansa?” He hardly ever called her by her given name, usually going by some annoying nickname from childhood or calling her nothing at all, just barking at her. It made her gut twist and tears escape her eyes that he had read the anguish in her voice, knowing that something was wrong. “What's wrong?”

She couldn't contain it anymore, the sobbing starting again and the heavy breaths she was taking made her dizzy. “I – I – ” She couldn't answer through her crying, but he quickly cut her off.

“Where are you? Is Arya with you?”

“No.” She choked out. “Just me.”

“Sansa, where are you?”

She looked up at the inky sky, dark enough out here in the woods that she could see the stars clearly. “The county road.” She said shakily, calming down a bit now that she knew for sure he was coming and she wouldn't be out here alone. “About ten or so miles south from the rock trail.”

“I'm on my way. Don't move.”

“Sandor.” She rushed, before he hung up. She knew she'd captured his attention by using his given name as well, she was met with silence on the other side of the phone. “Please don't tell anyone.”

It was quite for a moment before he gruffly replied, “I'm on my way.” He repeated again. “Alone.”

“Thank you.” She replied before hanging up. 

She settled herself down on the cold, wet ground, her legs weak, and the snow falling lightly around her. She shivered, cold to the bone, and aching. But, she was wired, she kept looking in every direction, waiting for Joffrey to return and finish what he started. He was right about one thing though, she was scared of him now. She had learned. 

She looked down at the phone in her hands, thinking about the boy who had just promised to come get her. Sandor Clegane had been friends with her sister for a long time, Arya even boldly proclaiming to have saved his life and that's how they became friends. Sansa had never heard the real story behind their budding friendship, only tall tales told by her sister and gruff denials from him. In any case, he remained one of Arya's closest friends, despite their intense nature with one another and their parent's outward concern at first.

Sansa wouldn't lie and say her and the Hound were friends. They weren't friends, they had spent enough time together to barely constitute as close acquaintances. But, Arya trusted him, and that was enough for Sansa.

They didn't usually get along either, mostly because Joffrey hated him and the feeling seemed to be mutual when it came to Clegane. He was a gruff boy who spoke out of turn and said whatever was on his mind – disgusting or not. She had known Sandor a lot longer than she'd known Joffrey, and in that time, they'd always bickered, causing more than one headache for Cat and Arya. But, she'd always appreciated the way he cared for her sister, how loyal he could be, despite his rough demeanor and outward rudeness. 

The thought wafted through her head before she could stop it; at one point, she and Jeyne had been sure that he had liked her. It had caused many hearty laughs and pointed jests from her best friend, even a poem entitled, The Seven Songs of Sansa Clegane.

She pushed the silly thought from her mind and unlocked her phone, deciding to see if Joffrey had posted anything on social media about her. She knew he wouldn't be that stupid, having literally choked her out at the very notion that she'd tell someone, but she felt paranoid and checked anyway, not wanting her parents to know that she was now stranded alone on the side of the road.

When that came up empty, she looked back up at the stars ans tried to make out constellations, ignoring the sounds of forrest life behind her and across the road, not letting herself get freaked out. She had already lived through one nightmare, she didn't need to start living another. It wasn't long after that she closed her eyes, trying to keep her teeth from chattering, and let the quiet sounds of wind moving though the trees lull her. She wasn't sure how long she sat there, but when she heard a car in the distance, she stood.

It came from the direction Joffrey had sped off to, from their side of town, it drove slowly but with purpose. She couldn't help the small bundle of fear bubble up inside of her at the prospect that he might be coming back for her, and with the headlights so far away, she couldn't tell if it was him or not.

Once it got a little closer though, she was able to make out the bulky shape of Sandor's old truck and she let out the breath she had been holding. He slowed once his headlights had hit her and came to a stop a few paces away from her. He quickly got out of his truck and made his way over to where she stood, his face laced with concern and confusion.

“What the hell happened to you? Why the fuck are you all the way out here?”

She had calmed down in the time she spent waiting for him, but at the sight of his usually annoyed face filled with concern, she started to lose it again. She started to cry, wanting to answer him, but not sure how. She looked around again, just waiting to see the shiny silver of Joffrey's expensive car coming back down the road. Sandor made his way over to her a little more to grab her purse and move her to the truck when she flinched, he retreated a bit and held his hands up in front of him.

“I'm sorry.” She was jumpy, she knew that he wouldn't hurt her, but she was scared anyway. She wondered if it'd always be like this now.

“Don't be. Come on, let's get you in the truck.”

He didn't comment on her lack of jacket, or the bruising to her face or arms, he just picked up her oversized purse and led her to the passenger side of his truck. It wasn't a particularly big truck, or a tall one, so Sansa had no problem getting in on her own. Once she was settled, he moved around to the drivers side and got in. It was then he looked at her, gave her that side-eye glance that she usually got from him. She didn't return it. She didn't want to see the pity in his eyes.

What the fuck had happened to her? He knew that it must've been the boy-king, who else would've touched her? Her face was swollen, an eye starting to bruise, her lip busted, her nose bleeding, a cut at her temple, and red everywhere. Her arms weren't much better, littered with scratches and marks. He felt his blood begin to boil.

He noticed her shiver, and realized she wasn't wearing a coat, just thin clothes. He shrugged off his hoodie without thinking and handed it to her. She flinched slightly at his movement, but he could tell she was trying to suppress it. She wasn't afraid of him, she was just afraid.

She took the hoodie from him, nodding her head, but her eyes not meeting his. “Thanks.” He didn't say anything in response, but she could feel his side gaze on her as she pulled the warm fabric around her. It was comically big on her lithe frame, but it provided the warmth she'd been missing. It smelled like him she realized, even weirder was that she had unconsciously recognized his scent. He turned the truck around and began to drive back in the direction in which he'd come from.

It was silent. Neither of them speaking, no music playing softly as she was accustomed to in his car, just the loud rumble of hot air blowing on them from the vents.

She couldn't stop thinking about what had happened. The moments replayed in her mind like a bad rerun, she couldn't escape from it. And all she could think about was how she could've done things differently, how much harder she could've fought back, how weak she really was, how much control Joffrey actually had over her. It made her sick. She hated herself.

Was this how people really felt after an attack? She'd watched enough Law & Order: SVU in her spare time to pull from her memory, but living a particularly sheltered life made her weary to believe everything she saw. Now, she knew all she'd saw and read about was true.

She zoned back into reality when she felt the truck make a left hand turn, she looked around and realized they weren't far from their neighborhood. She hadn't thought this part through, she couldn't go home, even with Ned and Cat out of town. Robb and Jon had been demanded under strict threat of pain to make sure the younger Stark brood did as they were suppose to while the parents were away. She couldn't go home to her brothers, not like this. They would literally kill someone, mainly Joffrey, and while Sansa believed he deserved it, it would ruin everything.

She had gotten over the hurdle of being picked up, but now she had to quickly figure out where to go.

She turned to look at the boy beside her. His eyes trained on the road before them, his brows furrowed, his mouth set into a deep line. She took a brief moment to study the planes of his face, the un-ruined side. He might've been attractive as he grew if he hadn't been marred at such a young age, not her standard of fairytale handsome, but comely. If Sansa didn't know any better, she'd say he was Arya's type, but he wasn't. She favored being the strong one, which is why her and Gendry got along so well. He let her play commander in a way Clegane never would. 

Sansa could tell he was getting uncomfortable from her staring, he'd always been uncomfortable in her presence and tried to make her feel the same as a way to compensate. He finally turned to look at her, she noticed the way his usually hard grey eyes softened when they looked at her. It wasn't pity, but it still made her want to turn away and cry.

Sandor noticed that she had been stuck staring at him, he could very literally feel those blue eyes of hers running over the unmarred skin of his face, tracing it like a hand. She'd been doing it since he'd known her – which had been an admittedly long time.

Her face was looking worse as the time passed, which he knew wasn't a good sign. She needed to be attended to, whether at a hospital or by her sister, just someone who knew what they were doing. She probably had bruises in places he didn't even want to think about, it only made him want to turn his truck around and go beat the shit out of Joffrey for her, to show her how much he cared.

Because he did care, whether she wanted to know that or not.

She took a deep breath to steady herself before she spoke. Her voice was hoarse, but clear enough. “I can't go home.” She shook her head, “Not like this.”

It was quiet again, the air settling between them. “Where do you want me to take you, then?”

He watched her eyes glaze over in thought, her mouth set in a deep frown, her brows furrowed. It didn't take her long to make a decision. “Take me to your house.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, hi, you guys are so fab! I'm just gonna leave what I've got so far of this story here for you.

He kept his hard gaze on her, making her squirm under it. It wasn't often that they met each other's gazes, it wasn't often they were alone together either. She couldn't even remember the last time they were alone together. He finally looked away and kept driving, veering to the right and officially taking her away from the road that would lead her home. She let out a deep breath, feeling her eyes begin to water again. She tried to suppress it, tried to stave off the tears that threatened to fall. She didn't want to be weak, she didn't want to be this little damsel in distress, this wasn't the role she wanted to play anymore.

His house wasn't far from her own, a few streets over and down. They had played together as children a part of the neighborhood, him and Arya had always gotten along better than the rest of them, which had always bothered Sansa if she was being honest. Her sister; her rude, vile, sweet sister could make friends with just about anyone; while respectable, by the books Sansa had a slew of fake friends and her sister's friends taking care of her instead of her own. 

Life was a cruel joke.

He parked in his driveway and she noted that there were no other cars in it. She'd honestly forgotten to ask him if his father was home – though he usually wasn't. Mr. Clegane was an on call doctor in the ER at the hospital, he worked nights and days, sometimes he didn't come home at all. She wondered briefly if Sandor ever got lonely with the house all to himself.

He jumped out of the truck, the quiet slam of the door waking Sansa from her mini stupor. She grabbed her bag from beside her and turned to open the door, but he had it already open for her and a hand out to help her down. She wasn't entirely sure why he was being so nice to her, but one look in the passenger side mirror and she remembered.

She took his offered hand, now feeling all the pain in her tired body that she'd refused to feel before, and got out of the truck. He closed the door behind her softly and led her up the walk to the front door. His house wasn't as large as her's, but then again the Clegane's certainly didn't have as many children as the Stark's had, what use would be all that extra room?

It was a nice house, regardless. Light grey with dark yellow shutters, the upkeep on the house was clearly maintained and it stood proud amongst the other well bred houses. She watched as he unlocked the door and pushed it aside, gesturing her to enter, she did and waited for him in the doorway.

It was dark and she couldn't really see anything, but when he flipped on all the lights she got a better look. He lead her down the stairs to a small den that posed as a second living room, instead of up to the main level where she could see a kitchen. The lighting was dim down there, but the soft light coming from the lamp in the corner soothed her anxiety from the evening. The whole atmosphere of his home was quiet and soothing, she realized. Nothing like the crazy, loud mess that was her own home.

She stood there, unsure of what to do. Sandor seemed to be in the same predicament and stood facing her. She looked up at him, meeting his gaze, that heavy, piercing gaze. She felt her eyes begin to water again and he nodded then.

“We should clean and bandage your cuts so you don't get an infection.” She just nodded, because what else could she do? He was right. “Does anything feel broken?”

His soft rumbling voice had a gentle quality to it, something she hadn't thought possible of him, of the older boy who rolled his eyes at her and called her names. They'd always been at odd as children, but it had always been clear that he hadn't actually meant her any real harm. They may not've gotten along all the time, but it was obvious that he did care for her, just as he cared for her sister.

“I-I don't know.” 

Because she didn't know. She had grown up a loving and privileged life, she hadn't been beaten or bruised, she had hardly been yelled at as a child. She knew better than to climb trees too high or be unsteady on a horse, she'd never fallen or crashed. Not until now.

Sandor just nodded and moved past her and into a room off the side, once she heard the shower running she realized that it was a bathroom. The sound of water running made her recognize just how grimy she felt, blood caked to her skin, melted snow and dirt from the road smeared into her hair and clothes – her ripped and dirty clothes. Her cuts burned and her bruises ached. She couldn't help the stinging behind her eyes.

She quickly unzipped Sandor's hoodie, letting it drop to the ground. Her heart was beating fast and her anxiety was coming back. She just needed to get these clothes off of her, they were tainted, they told of a night she never wanted to remember or think about ever again. A part of her, the only rational part left, knew that she was only using her clothes as an excuse to not think about what had actually happened tonight. But the rest of her didn't really care at this point.

She tugged off her soiled shirt, leaving her in the camisole beneath it, and throwing it to the ground along with the hoodie. She leaned down to take off her officially garbage worthy socks and that's when she finally started to really feel the pain that radiated in her body.

Sandor came back out of the bathroom, but stopped when he saw just how manic she looked. She couldn't blame him, she probably looked crazy, her hands clawing at her ruined clothes, attempting to take them off her broken body. She looked up at him in turn and noted for the first time that he stood before her in his casual clothes, nothing like the expensive clothes that Joffrey wore. For some reason the sight of his long sleeved and well worn henley comforted her slightly, but not enough to stop her harsh breathing or glassy eyes.

She watched his eyes glance over her, checking over the exposed skin that sported red marks or bruises, his eyes just slightly lingering over those parts of her. His brows furrowed at her from where he stood by the bathroom door, the bright light from behind him casting his large form in shadows, but she could still clearly make him out.

He had a tube of antiseptic in his hand and gauze, a roll of tape slung around his wrist. It was a little more than obvious that he'd done this before, that he'd fixed some cuts and staved off infection. The abuse of the younger Clegane boy was one of the worst kept secrets in Westeros, almost everyone knew about it and no one ever said a word – mostly because Sandor would knock them out if they did, and because of Gregor. He didn't like people feeling anything but well worn contempt for him, so he saw to it that it stayed that way. But, now with Gregor gone, he had seemed a little more at ease, a little more even keel.

They were kindred spirits in a way she supposed, both hiding behind masks of indifference.

Her harsh breathing had escalated and her wide eyes started to water as a panicky feeling seized her. She very well might've been having a panic attack, the stress of the evening finally hitting her now that she was safe. Her eyes caught his and she hated the way he looked at her from across the room.

She began clawing at her clothes again, pulling at her ruined camisole and lifting it over her head, throwing it down in the pile with the rest of her destroyed clothes. Tears fell down her face in hot trails, her quick breaths pierced her chest, reminding her of how little physical activity she really did these days, her hands were on the waistband of her ripped leggings when her eyes found his again. 

He was still standing in the doorway of the bathroom, that light still backlighting him, and he was doing a spectacular job of trying to keep his gaze on her eyes. She realized then that she was stripping in front of him. She was practically naked from the waist up – and, what really struck her – was that she didn't care.

She didn't feel that hot wave of embarrassment slide over her, she didn't feel the shock or appall that usually would've accompanied such a thing. She didn't feel anything. Except the widespread panicked feeling and the sharp piercing in her chest from her labored breathing.

Maybe she was having a panic attack or suffering from some form of PTSD or something. Whatever it was, it was causing her to act rash and flighty. The look in Sandor's eyes told her he'd seen this before, probably in the mirror.

Sandor cleared his throat and but never lowered his gaze from hers, “Why don't you shower and then we'll see if anything's broken.” His voice was still holding that gentle quality from earlier, but it was a bit gruffer now. For whatever reason the sound of his normal timbre calmed her slightly, she found herself nodding before she'd realized what she was doing and made her way over to where he stood.

He moved as she approached, letting her into the bathroom and shutting the door behind her. The room was warm, the water running and causing steam to roll up the walls, fogging the mirror just slightly.

She couldn't stop herself from looking, it was like her eyes had been drawn to the mirror since she'd stepped over the threshold of the bathroom. Luring her in, forcing her to not look away from what happened tonight. Maybe that was actually her subconscious, maybe it wasn't.

She looked terrible.

Her nose was starting to swell, as well as the underside of her eye. A palate of red, blues and purples began to bloom where cream colored skin usually sat. Her lip had busted from the force of his slap, a cut at her temple from where he'd shoved her face in the ground, a scrape on her chin. Her chest wasn't much better. Thick red lines marred her pale skin, everywhere. Her throat had a bruise in the shape of his hand, clear finger lines stretching wide across. Bruises littered her arms, chest, and stomach – she was sure her legs weren't much better.

Sandor was going to have a hell of a time patching her up.

She unclasped her bra and pulled off the poor excuse of a legging, as well as her now dirty and ripped underwear, throwing them on the ground and slowly moving into the shower. The water was hot. She only turned it up hotter. It burned her skin, causing it all to flush red and sting. She didn't care, she wanted to feel it, needed to. She needed to feel something aside from the overwhelming sadness that had begun to to claw at her chest, the ever present stinging behind her eyes.

She sunk down onto the floor of the tub, the water beating against her back, and began to cry. She didn't care that she was sobbing, she didn't care that he could hear her, she didn't care about anything.

Her life was ruined. 

The perfectly sculpted life that she had painstakingly created for herself was over. There was no way she'd ever be able to go back, not after tonight. She'd be able to fake it, if she really had to, but, she knew. It was over.

She had spent so much time doing everything in her power to get ahead, to create the perfect life she'd always dreamed of as a child. The big house like the one she'd grown up in, the perfect career with the high paying salary, the handsome husband with the great job, beautiful children that she'd love dearly, and the humble, but truthful muttering of 'What a family' by her peers.

She hadn't dreamt of castles and princes, she could've cared less about fairytales and magic. No, she had always dreamt of the big leagues and when Family, Duty, Honor would finally apply to her. She'd always pictured herself as a Governor’s wife or the First Lady, ever since she was little, it had always been something she'd wanted.

She had thought she'd found that in Joffrey, and she hadn't been wrong. He would be a politician one day, probably go on to be Governor and maybe even run for Office. But, he would never be the firm but gentle husband of her dreams, never be the man she'd actually want to stand beside, to smile for. Maybe at one time, but certainly not in a long time.

Sansa realized then that she had spent so much time actually trying to make these goals come true that she'd forgotten why they were important to her in the first place. Family, Duty, Honor. She'd been so caught up in her ridiculous daydream of a life that she'd forgotten. She hated herself a bit for it.

She sighed, rubbing at her eyes with her fists, only just remembering the swelling beneath her left one and barely catching herself in time. She was still crying, but no longer sobbing, and pulled herself up from the floor of the tub. She took a deep breath to calm herself a bit before looking around. This was very clearly Sandor's shower – or, at the very least, a man's. It was sparsely stocked, some cheap body wash, generic shampoo and conditioner, not even a loofah in sight. 

She watched as the water stopped turing an ugly mixture of grey and pink as it ran off of her, but she wouldn't be fooled into believing she was actually clean. Nothing could cleanse her of Joffrey and what he'd done to her tonight, but some soap couldn't hurt.

She released another shaky breath but began to rub the soap over her body. It stung, but it quickly faded as the water washed over her. She scrubbed her hair a bit, annoyed not for the first time at it's length, but knowing she'd never actually go through with cutting it. It was quick work, rhythmic and practiced, and before she knew it she was done, but she couldn't bring herself to leave the warm little cocoon that she'd made for herself. Not yet, at least.

So, she stayed under the warm spray for a little while longer, not entirely sure how long she'd been in there, but not really caring either. It was clear that Sandor wasn't going to bother her, which she was thankful for. 

It was strange to see him this way – all gentle and soft. She was use to the harsh attitude and gruff gravel to his voice. His silent eye rolls and narrowed gazes, his nicknames and scoffs. She wasn't accustom to this arms-length approach with him. He was more of a take it or leave it kind of guy, so this was all new and more than a bit bizarre. She wondered vaguely if Arya had seen this side of him. Probably not, her sister would've used it against him by now if she'd had.

She was done wallowing – for now – and shut off the water, stepping out of the shower. She saw a large robe hanging on the back of the door, and a stack of towels on the shelf beside the sink. She wrapped herself in the dark green robe that clearly belonged to Sandor or whatever other male used this bathroom, and wrapped a towel around her head just as she always did after a shower.

She looked down at her useless underwear and pants, she'd obviously not be putting any of her clothes from earlier back on, which left her slightly panicked about what she was going to do. She let out a breath that she'd been holding in and opened the door, she saw Sandor seated on the couch, gazing at nothing. He turned when he heard the door open.

She stepped out and walked towards him a bit, he stood too. Neither of them quite knew what to do at this point, running on adrenaline and fear had kept her going until she'd stepped foot into that shower and it was clear he had been living in a similar reaction. But now that the both of them stood before each other, they had no idea what to think.

He was the first one to get it together, gesturing towards the small stack of clothing on the end of the couch closest to her. “I brought you some clothes.” He seemed just as awkward as she felt, a first for both of them. “They're mine, they won't fit, but, it's the best I got.” His voice had become more and more gruff as he spoke, clearly uncomfortable. Hearing him act at least a little normal was comforting.

“Thanks.” She looked them over, a long sleeved shirt, a pair of boxers, a pair of sleep pants. He'd given her a full outfit, the thought would've made her chuckle any other time, but right now the notion died in her throat. It was thoughtful of him and the notion didn't leave her mind. She could see from his expression that she may have managed a smile, so there was that.

She pulled the boxers out of the pile, turning and stepping into them, the robe still intact, and slid them up her hips. It hurt to swallow, she realized. A lot of things hurt, actually. She turned back and looked back up at him expectantly, yet unsure of what she expected. She could feel the swelling in her face, the open wounds pressing against the soft fabric of the robe, the cool air against her wet legs. 

“What hurts.” He asked her again. 

She was probably being extremely unhelpful by never actually answering his questions, but she couldn't help that. “Everything.” She replied.

He gave her a look that she herself often gave Arya when she was being impossible. Well, at least somethings remained familiar in this extremely unfamiliar moment.

“Care to be more specific?” His gruff voice was returning slowly, but he still spoke softly in just above a whisper. Like he was afraid if he spoke any louder he'd scare her off. Maybe it would.

“I am being specific. Everything hurts. My face mostly, but my neck, by chest, my arms, my stomach. Everything aches and stings.”

“Does anything feel broken?” He asked her again.

She thought on it for a moment, but nothing did. It was also probably hard for him to diagnose her when he didn't even know what happened. He could guess, and he'd probably be right, but he didn't actually know the sequence of events. Didn't know that she'd crawled out of the car and onto the snowy ground to get away from him, that Joffrey had thrown her against the hood of his car or pushed her head into the asphalt as he attempted to remove her pants, to rape her. He didn't know any of that, he only knew what he saw.

“No.”

She heaved a sigh she hadn't known she'd been holding in and moved to the couch, gently seating herself down on it. It was comfortable, causing her to sink into it against the protest of her aching body. Sandor still stood, unsure of what to do, of what she wanted him to do. It didn't take him that long to sit down on the coffee table across from her. 

She looked at her hands, slightly covered by the robe that was engulfing her, she pushed the robe up to look at them better. They were pale, just like the rest of her skin, the left one unblemished with long fingers she'd always thought looked a bit spidery. The right one normally looked exactly the same, save for the small very light freckle on the side of her pinky, yet now it looked completely different. Her knuckles were split from when she'd managed a punch to Joffrey's face, she must've hit him pretty hard to have her knuckles split. She had four brothers and Arya for a sister, she knew the difference between roughhousing and fighting, she had fought, she had bruised herself fighting. Fighting back, she reminded herself. She had fought back.

Her brows furrowed as she looked down at her wounded hand, it was swollen and red around the cuts, she could tell it would bruise in the morning. For whatever reason, her hand was a product of this night with Joffrey that she was glad marred her skin. She was okay looking at it, it told of her attempt to fight back, to help herself in a dire situation, she was empowered by it almost. Which was why when the smooth, rumbling voice in front of her asked for the first time what had actually transpired on the road before she'd called him, she found the courage to answer.

“He hit me.” She looked up from her hand and to where he sat across from her, she watched his gaze turn heated and intense at her words. “Joffrey.” She breathed out shakily, not believing she was finding the strength to even say this out loud. “He hit me.”

She saw the tick in his strong jaw, he was clenching it, because he was angry. He was angry for her and for whatever reason she found comfort in his reaction, probably because he was so like Arya, only far less vocal. He said nothing but one word, “How.”

Sansa looked away from his heavy gaze and back down at her hands, pulling strength from them as she began to put words to the face of what happened to her. 

“We were coming back from a party, he was already mad at me and I made it worse somehow. He pulled over and we started fighting, he... he started choking me and I'm pretty sure I broke up with him, I told him that I didn't love him anymore, that we were just wasting our time. He punched me. Started choking me again. I-I managed to hit him back, get him off me.” She looked back down at her hand, the bruises that would begin to bloom, the split in her knuckles, they told of power and brutality that she normally didn't possess. She felt the swelling in her eyes, the sting in her nose, she tried to hold back her tears. “I tried to get out of the car, but he was too fast, he pulled me back in and tried to... He tried...”

“He tried what.” Sandor's voice was sharp, she felt like she was just put in one of those ice baths their mother use to give them when they had a fever. She'd never heard him like that before, maybe once when he had spoken about Gregor to her father when he thought no one else had been listening. It almost scared her to hear him like that, to hear the hate. He seemed to realize his tone frightened her and made the conscious effort to lower his gaze and his lilt. “Keep going, little bird.”

She almost rolled her eyes at the stupid nickname, he'd been calling her that for years. If she remembered correctly, Arya had been six, Sansa eight, and Sandor just shy of twelve when he called her that for the first time. They had been climbing trees and singing silly made up songs, much to Sandor – the self appointed babysitter's – annoyance, and he had tried everything to get them both down from the branch that was little more than off the ground, afraid of getting in trouble. Arya had jumped willingly into the older boys arms, fearless little thing she was, he had held them out for her and tossed up a fly, little bird. She would never admit that was the only reason she had came down. It didn't look like he planned to stop using the name anytime soon. She didn't role her eyes though, she didn't do anything but stare at him.

The tears started slipping down her cheeks, she felt that deep ache in her chest again. It was different now, though. It wasn't anxiety and devastation, it was sorrow. 

“He kept trying to get my clothes off, that's how they ripped.” She couldn't look at him as she spoke, was it normal to feel this ashamed? She shouldn't feel like that, she'd done nothing wrong, and yet, she felt it, she felt the stinging shame as she spoke, as someone else looked at her. She was damaged goods now, another statistic, she'd let herself become that. That hurt more than anything. “I managed to get myself out of the car. I just kept kicking him, as hard as I could, wherever I could. He pushed me into the front of his car, and then I was on the ground and all I remember is him kicking me, over and over. He pushed my face into the ground and I... I knew, what he was about to do...”

She slowly started to succumb to her sobs, covering her face gently with her hands, her shoulders shaking silently, wordlessly as she cried. She evened out her breathing, feeling overwhelmed and tired now that her adrenaline was wearing off. She heard Sandor's quiet drawl, but didn't look up.

“He forced himself on you.” 

It didn't escape her that he hadn't phrased it as a question, she answered it as thought it was one. 

“Yes.”

His voice was tight when he spoke next, “Did he – ”

She cut him off before he could finish. “No.” 

“How did you get away from him?” 

She wished her answer could be more exciting, showcasing just how well she'd listened to the police officers that had come into her primary school to talk about saying no to drugs and shady people, how well she'd listened to her mother, brothers, father about fighting back and staying alive. She wished for all of that. Unfortunately, she truly would've been another statistic those police officers warned young kids about in schools if his father hadn't called and pulled him away. It made her sick that her wellbeing relied on the fact that Joffrey was afraid of his father and not because she'd managed to fend off her attacker. Somehow she felt as though she had let Olivia Benson down.

She gently began to wipe her face as she looked up at him. “His phone started ringing.” She shrugged a shoulder, dabbing at the corners of her eyes. “It was his father. He doesn't disrespect Robert, he'd never admit it, but he's afraid of him. If it had been anyone else calling, his mother, anyone, he would have. He would have raped me.”

Saying it out loud for the first time made her feel defeated and afraid. It brought back some of the emotions she'd felt earlier, emotions that she feared would never go away. He would have raped her on the snowy ground, bleeding and crying, and he would've enjoyed it. That was the first time she truly realized just how unhinged Joffrey really was. He was mentally and physically abusive, controlling and rude. How had she ever looked at him with love and desire? He was a monster. A blonde little monster.

That she was scared of.

She was scared of him. Afraid he would find her, wherever she was and hurt her again. She was afraid he'd still own her after all this was over. The thought struck her and a seizing panic started to spread through her, what if he made her still be his girlfriend?

Her spike in heart rate and a mile a minute thinking were cut short by Sandor's heavy sigh. She looked up at him, shocked by the intensity in his gaze – which was saying something, he usually sported an intense look. He pinned her with it, making sure she couldn't look away before he spoke with serious finality in his voice. 

“I'm going to ask you this once.” She tilted her head down just slightly to show him she understood so he could continue. “Do you want me to do something about this.”

She had never seen him this serious before, this taught. He looked like a band about to snap. He was usually found with a scowl on his face and intensity in his eyes, a serious demeanor his most frequent of faces. But, this? This was something she wasn't familiar with. He look like he'd kill for her, and she wouldn't put it past him.

Her brows furrowed at his question, a slight panic in her eyes. “I-I don't want anyone to know – ”

“Not that.” He ground out. “You need to figure that out for yourself. I'm asking if you want me to do something about him, about Baratheon.”

The realization of his words hit her and she felt fear and gratitude at his words. She didn't want him to get into trouble, that's exactly the reason why she hadn't gone home. Her brothers and Sandor had a very similar mind set when someone they cared about was involved, she didn't want any of them to be punished for her. Because even though Joffrey deserved whatever Sandor or her brothers would do to him, he wasn't worth what Robert would do to the boys in return.

She shook her head, tears pricking her eyes. “No. He's not worth it. He's not worth what ridiculous penalties Robert would slap you with.”

Sandor didn't seem liked he cared all that much about what Robert Baratheon would do, but nodded anyways. It was quiet between them for a few beats, both unsure of how to progress again. Sansa felt winded after relying her attack, but she also felt lighter. It felt good to get it off her chest and have someone else know what he'd done to her. She had been afraid that if she told no one, it was almost like it hadn't happened. And while she did want to forget it and move on, she knew that it would haunt her for the rest of her life, if no one else knew... it would be like she survived nothing.

“Why don't you let me wrap your hand.”

She brought her right hand up and he leaned in forward to grasp it in his larger one. He examined her split knuckles and the slight bruising that was beginning to form. He smoothed some antiseptic over it, she winced as it stung a bit, before wrapping it in white bandages. When he was done he looked up at her head, eyeing the cut at her temple, without a word she leaned forward and closed her eyes as he set to work on her head. It was quick and mostly painless as he spread the gel over the cut and covered it with steri strips.

He leaned back from her and she opened her eyes to look at him. He seemed deep in thought about something, although she had no idea what it was. He had always been hard to read, guarded, growing up hadn't changed that at all.

Looking at her bandaged hand had her thinking too. The rest of her body was littered with cuts and scrapes, he would need to disinfect and tape all of them, which meant she would need to take off the robe. The idea of someone touching her body terrified her after what she just went through with Joffrey, but she didn't want these wounds to fester and become infected. If she was taken to the hospital because of them, all her hard work at hiding this from her family would be for nothing. 

She looked up at him, they were both still leaning from when he'd fixed her head, and it was one of the few times she had seen him this close. His grey eyes glinted in the dim light from the corner, his dark hair falling over the marred side of his face, he looked soft sitting there without a scowl, he certainly looked Northern. When they had been very young, before he had been burned by Gregor, there had been a time when people had thought Jon and Sandor were brothers, sometimes people still thought Arya was his sister. She wondered if it bothered him.

Sansa's heart was beating hard as she stood slowly from the couch, wincing from the pain radiating in her ribs and back. Sandor looked up at her, the scowl still free from his face, making him look younger and calmer than she knew he was. She slowly eased the robe down from her shoulders and letting it drop back onto the couch. Her breathing was harsh, goosebumps pricked her cold skin, she watched as he took her in.

She knew what she looked like right now, a broken and battered mess. She knew that there were bruises and scratches and maybe she'd even have scars, her once porcelain-like body was now marred forever, even if the wounds did heal. She watched his eyes take in every cut, scrape, and bruise, slowly and methodically. The look in his eyes made tears prick her own.

She had always expected the unveiling of her body to be something out of the romance novels, the man who she gave herself to would look on at her reverently, his eyes swooping up her visage and leaving tendrils of heat in his wake. He would worship her with his gaze, make her feel powerful and beautiful without saying a word. 

But, the way Sandor was looking at her right now, a mixture of both sadness and pity and barely repressed rage, had tears falling from her eyes. 

No, Sandor was not the man from those romance novels, not the man she was giving herself to, not the man who was about to worship her body like those novels suggested, but he was still the first man to look at her and it hurt that she was no longer attractive in his eyes. It hurt that this was the first experience she had and the one that she would remember the most. Dejected, she couldn't help the flow of tears or the small sobs that began to rack her body.

“I-I hate him. I h-hate him so much.”

Sandor looked uncomfortable, unsure of how to stop the flow of tears or the girl in front of him from dissolving into herself. He wasn't sure what to do, how to make it better and that much was clear. But every nick on her skin had him clenching and unclenching, he couldn't understand how someone could do that to her, she couldn't understand it either.

Instead, he knelt down between them, he was tall enough that even kneeling he would've been able to comfortably rest his head against her chest. He wasn't exactly invading her space, although she did feel equal parts anxiety and embarrassment at having his face eye level with her breasts. She gently began to wipe away the tears on her face as he looked intently at the bruising around her ribs, never once looking at her bare chest. He raised his hand up slightly and caught her eye, making a show of him slowly moving into touch her. She still flinched from the contact, both because she was still jumpy and because it hurt where he'd pressed. He didn't seem to be slighted by the action.

His brows were furrowed as he efficiently checked out her ribs, leaning back a bit and asking her to turn around. “I need to see your back.” She did as she was told and turned around, she couldn't see him go to touch her this time and found herself flinching again. She hated that she was reduced to this scared little girl, she wondered if she'd always be like this, if she would never be able to forget this night and no one could ever touch her again. She let out a little sigh and focused on the pictures lining the walls.

Most of them were pictures of Sandor as a baby and a child, a few of Gregor, but not many. She didn't doubt why, in the few pictures of him that did hang on the wall, he seemed expressionless or angry, which pretty much summed up her very limited memories of the older brother. He wasn't a particularly nice person, the obvious evidence to support that claim was the face of the man behind her. She had been told not only by her own father, but by Sandor himself, to steer clear of the older Clegane.

Her eyes swept over a picture of little Sandor seated at a table beside his mildly pregnant mother. Ayleen Clegane had been a beautiful woman. Sansa just barely remembered her, but from the little she could actually recall, she had always been quiet and nice. Sandor and Gregor seemed to favor her more than their father, with her dark hair and fair skin, but Sandor looked his mother's son far more than Gregor did.

She remembered him like that, all small and scrawny. Gregor had always been tall for his age and beefy, but with time all the pudgy baby fat had turned into shocking muscle. Sandor on the other hand had been slight, short and thin, it was only once he'd hit puberty had he begun to sprout and fill out, looking more like Gregor and his father.

It was sort of odd comparing the two together, the Sandor from the pictures and the one who had just disinfected the scrape along her spine and was now wrapping her ribs. Apparently they weren't broken. Sansa wasn't sure if that said more about Joffrey's lack of strength or her self preservation skills.

“I'm going to need you to turn around and then spin slowly.”

She turned her head to look at him holding a piece of ace bandage in one hand and the antiseptic in the other, she turned back to face him again. He looked a little uncomfortable again and she took the tube of antiseptic from him and walked back to the bathroom, once she could see in the mirror, she began to apply it on all the cuts littering her chest and torso. Once she was finished, she made her way back to where he stood and handed the tube back from him.

He rose a brow but said nothing as he began to apply the ace bandage and walk slowly around her with it, wapping her ribs. “None of them looked broken or severely bruised, if a bruise starts to bloom on her lower back or if your urine looks discolored, you need to go to the emergency room.” He stopped in front of her, holding her gaze. “I mean it. That shit's serious, you don't mess with internal organs or internal bleeding.”

“Okay.” She really hoped that wouldn't be the case.

He finished wrapping her and began to place bandaids over the small scrapes over her chest and arms, moving down to her legs. Once he was done, he stepped back and out of her space, handing her the shirt and pants he'd left out for her before. She shrugged them on quickly, finding now that she was fully covered, she was more aware of just how bare she'd been, embarrassed by it.

“Come on, you can take my bed.” 

He began to walk in the direction of the closed door beside the bathroom, she followed him wordlessly as he turned on the light and led her in. She'd never been in his room before, she'd been in his house on occasion, mostly to retrieve Arya for dinner, but she'd never ventured beyond the appropriate living spaces. 

She found that his room was a lot like him, sparse, almost militant, and cool. The walls were painted a deep navy that almost looked black in the dim lighting, his bed was large and made neatly, it was sparsely furnished and felt almost as though he didn't spend a ton of time in it. Yet, it also felt like him.

He moved further into the room, grabbing clothes out of a plain wooden dresser before gesturing to the bed with his arm. “There's some aspirin in the nightstand. Get some sleep, little bird. We'll figure out what you want to do in the morning.”

She nodded and he began to exit the room, she looked around again, finding it to be warm and inviting in a way she hadn't expected. Kind of like her brother Jon. She walked back out before she could help herself. He was in the bathroom, so she waited in the doorway of his room for him to come back out, when he did she watched as she made his way over to the couch, a pair of loose sleep pants very similar to the ones she wore and a long sleeved t-shirt now covered his body, he pulled a blanket and pillow out from the closet and began to make a make-shift couch bed.

“Sandor.” He looked up from the couch to her, “Thank you. For everything. For coming to get me no questions asked, for doing all of this.” She gestured to her body. “Just... thank you.”

“Your welcome.” He replied, his head dipped low.

She gave him a small smile before ducking back into his room and turning out the light. She swallowed some aspirin and slipped into his large bed, finding it warm as she tucked into herself. She willed everything to disappear behind her eyelids, willed the night to fade away and become nothing more than a bad dream. She knew that wouldn't be the case, but she had no more fight left in her for tonight. She'd survived and escaped, she could deal with Joffrey and her family tomorrow, right now she just needed sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what I'm gonna say. Tell me your thoughts, people.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just leaving what I've got so far of this story here for you, since you guys are so nice.

Sansa rolled over gently, hissing slightly at the movement jarring her aching ribs and back. She was still in that odd state between sleep and awake, just coming to but still hazy. She recognized she wasn't in her own bed. She knew that she wasn't at home. She knew where she was, she remembered everything that had transpired last night, every horrible and precise detail. She was in Sandor Clegane's bed. He had offered it to her after she had called him to pick her up and fixed all her wounds. She had trusted Sandor Clegane, the Hound, in a way she didn't think she could trust anyone who wasn't Jeyne or her own family.

The notion of that didn't go unnoticed by her. 

The two of them had never been particularly close, for some reason her mind couldn't stress that enough, but after last night she couldn't see herself going back to ignoring him and rolling her eyes at every snide and uncomfortably honest comment he made. How could she? Not after he had been so soft last night, gentle, speaking in hushed tones and eyes mostly downcast. After he had fixed her wounds and sent her to his bed. She had seen a side of him she wasn't sure anyone else had. He had helped her without question, promising not to whisper her secret. 

How would she ever be able to thank him?

Or get over the fact that she had become a girl with a secret?

She attempted to stretch her sore body from the curled position she had found herself tucked into last night, which didn't end well. She had fully awoken from the pain unfurling her body had caused. She wasn't sure what time it was or where her bag and phone were located, she just stayed facing the dark navy wall, burrowing further into the soft pillow and warm blanket his bed offered her.

She didn't want to deal with it, any of it. She knew Robb and Jon were probably pissed, she'd most likely have a hundred messages on her phone and a search party out for her, but she couldn't bring herself to move from the spot on the bed. Couldn't bring herself to go get her phone or gather her things. She was tired. She didn't want to move, didn't want to talk, she didn't want to deal with anything. Was she already depressed by everything? Did depression even come on that quickly?

She wondered vaguely if Sandor was awake. If he was waiting for her on the couch, too afraid to move in case she needed something. Or maybe he was upstairs in the kitchen, making himself something to eat, ignoring her presence again. Maybe he wasn't here at all. She didn't pretend to know his schedule, she knew he worked, she knew that he sometimes picked up Arya from school, that was kind of the extent she knew about him and his day to day activities. 

She hadn't been lying whenever she said that she didn't know much about him, even though he had been in and out of her life for the better part of it. He was more her sister's friend than anything, which was odd seeing as he was four years Sansa's senior which made him six years Arya's. She knew he had forewent university for whatever reason, she knew he had a job at the animal shelter and another at the same auto shop Gendry worked at, but that was it. She didn't know his schedule, she didn't know why he worked those jobs or decided against college, she didn't even know how him and Arya even became close. She knew basically nothing. 

That use to be fine with her, living in ignorance and disregarding things that didn't matter in her perfectly calculated world. But, things were different now. They did matter. She couldn't stop herself from thinking about the glaring holes in her life and how a man she knew next to nothing about came when she called no questions asked, because he cared for her family. And she didn't even know his middle name.

The proper young lady her mother had raised her to be was contrite at the thought.

Sandor didn't have to come, he didn't even have to answer his phone when she called. He didn't have to do any of the things he did last night, he certainly owed her nothing. While she now owed him everything.

She decided that she needed to pee and laying here wallowing in her own mind wasn't going to fix the situation she had found herself in. Nothing was going to change unless she changed it, and while she had absolutely no idea how to do that, she just knew that she had to. With a sigh, she gently pulled herself up into a sitting position and slowly made her way out of the bed.

Once she stood she felt the full weight of what her body endured last night crashing down on her. It hurt to breath in deeply, her back felt swollen, her face puffy, and the rest of her just ached. She took another aspirin before making her way out of his room.

She stopped when she saw him. He was still asleep, an arm slung over his eyes, the other hanging off the edge of the couch. His large frame barely fit comfortably, but his easy breathing told of his ability to sleep just about anywhere. Rickon was like that, she found herself thinking, it didn't matter where he was, the boy could fall asleep literally anywhere. A small smile warmed her face.

Sandor looked younger in his sleep, less harsh. She wouldn't use the word boyish, because even when he had been a boy, he'd never really looked boyish. He'd always managed to look older somehow, more rugged and angry than the rest of them. But, sleep had a way of changing people, Sansa found, and in sleep he looked lighter.

Something in her didn't want to wake him, or maybe didn't have the heart to, so she didn't. Sansa made her way quietly into the bathroom, gently closing the door behind her. She looked like shit. She could hear Arya's voice in her head muttering those words as she looked at the bruises and red splotches that lined her face. Everything was blooming and inflamed, harsher in the light of day than it had been in the soft light of the night. She tore her gaze away from the mirror and peed before she actually exploded.

Once she returned back to the living room, she checked to make sure she hadn't woken him before searching for her belongings. He'd placed all of her things on a armchair in the corner beside the couch, folded and together, thoughtfully. She looked at the ruined clothes, still slick with grime from the road, she couldn't put these things back on and she didn't want to. Which was a shame, she had been really fond of that top. She moved her clothes aside and reached inside of her purse to feel around for her phone.

It was as she'd expected, a million missed calls and texts from every person in her family and close friends. She'd been in the habit of keeping her phone on vibrate from school and never really turned the ringer on, which seemed to be a good thing in this moment. She scrolled through the missed calls, Robb, Jon, Arya, Bran, Rickon, Jeyne, not necessarily in that order, before moving on to the texts.

Robb: Hello? 

Sansa. 

I tried calling you, where are you? 

Sansa it's one am, you were suppose to be home hours ago. 

Seriously, where are you? 

Mom and dad will kill me if they find out you stayed out all night with Joffrey. 

SANSA. 

This is serious, where are you. 

Hello?

 

Arya: The fuck? 

Where you at? 

Uh, hello. 

Sansa. 

Hi, stop ignoring me. 

Bitch, answer your phone. 

Robb is having a coronary, just call him back. or me back or any of us. 

Are you seriously having that much fun with Joff-poff that you're not coming home? 

Just answer your phone, Sansa. 

I will kill you if you don't text me back. 

Robb's threatening to call mom. 

You're so dead. 

HELLO? HI? SANSAAAAA.

 

Jon: Hey. Are you okay?

 

Jeyne: Hey, is everything alright? Robb called me and said you never came home? 

Sansa, text me back. 

If you don't call or text me back I'm assuming the worst and telling them about Joffrey. 

It's been an hour and that threat didn't work? Are you okay? 

Sansa please just text me back and let me know you're alright.

 

Bran: Everyone is freaking out, can you just let us all know you're alive please?

 

Rickon: How do I download flappybirds?

 

Sansa sighed as she read through all the messages and listened to the twelve – yes, actually twelve – voicemails Robb had left for her, each more frantic and manic than the next. They were such hypocrites, Robb and Jon snuck out with Theon all the time, disobeyed curfew and rules whenever it suited them. Mom and Dad were out of town and she doesn't come home on time and apparently it's a national travesty? Well, something bad had happened, but that was besides the point.

She scrolled through the last of the messages when she landed on his. Her breathing stilled, her blood running cold, when had she started to sweat? 

He had called her this morning.

He had left her a message.

She felt her hands begin to shake, did she listen to it? Could she manage listening to his voice? She found herself sinking into the chair amongst her things, not caring that she was seated on her ruined, but folded, clothes and her purse. She stared at her phone, staring at his name on the screen. She played the message before she could stop herself.

“Sansa.” She felt her body still and her breathing become shaky at the sound of his voice saying her name. “We're not going to do anything rash today, are we? Call me, we're going to meet and discuss last night. I think it's for the best, don't you?” The controlled manner in which he spoke, the false sweetness in his voice, why had she never noticed that until now? “I love you.”

She dropped the phone from her hands and closed her eyes, her now empty hands coming up to rest themselves in her hair. She couldn't stop the hot tears, she didn't want to. She felt the small sob escape her lips and she covered her face with her hands, shoulders shaking. 

What was wrong with him? What was wrong with Joffrey? What was wrong with her for ever seeing something in him? He was a monster, a cruel little monster that everyone had seen except her. She hadn't wanted to see it, she hadn't wanted her dreams to be dashed. She had wanted her perfect life, with her perfect plan, and his perfect blonde hair.

That wasn't the case anymore. She couldn't even hear his voice without breaking down into a fit of sobs. How was she ever suppose to get on if she couldn't even think about him without breaking? She felt weak, and she hated it.

She had forgotten where she was until she felt eyes on her. She removed her hands from her face and turned, finding Sandor sitting up on the couch and looking at her intently. She shook her head and wiped at her face.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you up, I just... I don't know.”

“It's fine.” His voice was deeper than normal, gravelly from sleep. “What...” He gestured to all of her as a way of finishing his question.

She picked up her phone from where she'd dropped it on the floor and sighed. “I was just checking to see if anyone had called me last night, which they had, all night, and then I saw that he had called me and left me a voicemail and like an idiot I listened to it and now I'm crying over him again and waking you up. I'm sorry.”

He shook his head, “Stop apologizing. Do I look like I need one?”

She shook her head, but kept his gaze.

Sandor looked at the phone in her hand, eyes narrowed at it. “What did the boy-king want?”

“Boy-king?” Sansa's brows furrowed. “Is that what you call him?”

“Your sister, mostly.” He shrugged. “But, I coined the term.”

Sansa sighed, running a hand over her still tired eyes again, wincing as she hit a forgotten bruise. She felt exhausted and she'd just woken up, great. “He was checking up on me, making sure I didn't tell anyone.” She couldn't lift her gaze to his and instead played with the phone in her hands. “He wants to meet me and talk about last night.”

Sandor just nodded and kept staring back at her, she brought her gaze up to meet his when he didn't say anything back. She wondered if he thought she would run back to him, to Joffrey. Hearing him out and sinking back into letting him control her, never breaking the never ending cycle. She wouldn't exactly fault him for thinking that, before last night she probably would have, she had every other time.

What was wrong with her? What was actually wrong with her? She knew there was something seriously wrong with Joffrey, but it hadn't occurred to her until all of this happened that there must be something wrong with her for going back to him, for putting up with him, for letting him.

She wouldn't let him this time, she decided. She wouldn't let herself further become the statistic she already was. She wouldn't let him ruin her, even if he already had.

“You think I'll go back to him, don't you.” She said softly, their eyes gently connecting from across the coffee table.

He didn't say anything, but the look in his steel eyes was enough. He didn't want to say it because he didn't want to hurt her feelings – which was a first – but he knew that she would. She tugged her gaze away from his and nodded. 

“I won't, you know. I won't go back.” She chewed on her lip thoughtfully before continuing. “I don't know what I'm gonna do, but, I know I can't go back with him. He's insane.” She looked back up at Sandor, feeling like a human yo-yo with all the up and down, but unable to stop herself. “I can't even leave your house without people knowing he's the one who did this and he wants me to meet him? What's wrong with him?” Sansa wasn't exactly sure when she'd started yelling, Sandor didn't seem to mind.

“So don't.” Was his only reply.

“I won't.” She said indignantly, sky clashing with steel as they held each other's gazes.

“Okay.” He said it like he had nothing else to say on the matter, which maybe he didn't. They kept their small staring contest and she couldn't help looking him over again, he was so rarely open and on display without a scowl or furrowed brows that she felt as thought she couldn't pass up the opportunity. His dark hair was tousled from sleep, side-swept out of his face like he ran a hand through it and forgot that she was in the room. It left most of his face exposed, giving her a good view of both sides – the face she use to know and the one he hid from the world. 

He looked remarkably similar to how he had as a child, she realized; the loss of childhood baby fat and an angrier disposition was really the only difference. Besides the scars. But, his steel colored eyes were somehow both biting and warm, his strong jaw for once unclenched, his brows unfurrowed and easy as he stared back at her. His skin was that dusky sort of pale, not actually a peachy pallid like her own, but an oddly tanner pale that somehow wasn't dark. Her eyes were drawn to the long column of his throat, tracing the dusky pale skin before it was swallowed by the dark long sleeved t-shirt he wore. 

She brought her gaze back up to meet his, the look in his eyes something she couldn't discern. They were so different from Arya's grey eyes, her sister's were a tad more blue and alight with fire at all times. Sandor's were both light and dark, creating an almost thunderstorm effect while Arya's were like the ocean rolling against the rocks during a storm. Her eyes were just blue – it wasn't the first time she'd cursed her Tully looks and wished she'd been born with the Northern gene that made her sister look so exotic.

She hadn't realized just how quiet the room was until she spoke. “Thank you for last night.” She tried to channel all of her gratitude and warmth into one look as his eyes bore into her own, unsure of how to thank him otherwise. “You didn't have to, but you did anyway. So, thanks.”

He shrugged one broad shoulder and shook his head decisively. “You don't need to thank me again, little bird.”

The annoying childhood nickname didn't feel so annoying in the quiet moment passing between them, when he said it like that in his soft timbre. It made her feel connected to him instead, special almost. She found herself speaking before she could stop herself.

“What's your middle name?”

His brows furrowed a little in confusion, his head tilted as he opened his mouth to answer her, he was cut off by the outside basement door opening. They both turned quickly to see Arya making her way into his house like she owned the place – well, they heard her even before they saw her, because it was Arya.

“Clegane? Hello? Listen, we have an issue on our hands. Sansa is apparently nowhere to be fucking found, so I'm gonna need you to turn on your hunting nose and become the Hound we all know and despise – ” Her words dropped abruptly when she tromped into the basement living room and found Sansa and Sandor seated among his mother's ancient furniture. “...the fuck?” 

“Arya – ”

Her sister turned to look behind her before facing them again, seemingly making sure she was in the right house or not dreaming, or on an acid trip or something. Sansa rolled her eyes, Arya was such a drama queen. “Excuse me, but what the actual fuck are you doing here?” She asked Sansa, stepping further into the living room and in front of the two of them. “And why didn't you call to tell me she was here?” She pointed accusingly at Sandor.

His furrowed brows and scowl were back in full effect as he rolled his eyes at her younger sister and leaned back into the couch, Sansa hadn't realized that they'd both been leaning towards each other until he'd moved away. “I wasn't aware she was missing.”

Arya scowled at Sandor again before looking over at Sansa and realizing for the first time that her face was marred heavily. “Oh my god, Sansa.” Arya strode over to her and dropped to her knees quickly and gracefully, observing her bruise covered face. “What happened? Why the hell didn't you call us back last night?” Her face quickly turned murderous, standing to her feet as though she'd been burned. “Did he do this to you? Did that fucking douchebag do this to you?” Not waiting for an answer, Arya began to pace around the living room, fuming. “Oh, I'm going to skin that little shit alive and hang him by his balls.”

“Arya,” Sansa called, standing to place her hands on her sister's shoulders. “Arya, stop.”

“Why didn't you come home?” Arya pressed.

Sansa sighed, “Because I knew that you'd react like this, that you, Robb and Jon would just rile each other up and do something stupid – like kill him or call Mom.”

“We should be doing both of those things!” Arya cried angrily. “Right now!”

“No.” Sansa shook her head. “We're not. We're not telling anyone, we're not rushing over to kill Joffrey, we're not doing anything.”

She sounded resolute about it, which made Arya cry out. “And why not?”

“Because it's my problem and I'll deal with it how I want!” She wasn't sure why she was yelling at Arya when she only wanted to help – and actually do the logical thing that her brain was shutting out. 

The answer seemed to placate Arya for the moment, but the need to object still heavily on the tip of her tongue. She instead rounded on Sandor, who was still seated on the couch, watching the sisters interact. He didn't look at all phased by her sister's mean-eyes or the pushed-up shoulders that were a tell tale sign that Arya was pissed. He just sat with that blank stare, furrowed brows and scowl perfectly intact.

“So, how do you play into all this?” Her voice was both demanding and sarcastic. No wonder the two of them got along so well.

Sandor's eyes cut to Sansa's, almost asking permission to tell Arya what had transpired last night, but the look was quick and he responded without even a nod from her. “She called, I went.” That was all he gave.

“You called him to help you?” Arya asked skeptically, gesturing towards him almost as though she didn't believe that was a possible scenario and Sandor was lying. “Why didn't you call, like, literally anyone else?”

“Well, I couldn't call you.” Sansa gestured towards her sister, “You all would've been crazy. I couldn't call Jeyne, she's had enough of this already and was bound to do something drastic had I called her – ”

“Excuse me,” Arya interrupted, the attitude in her voice was sharp and hard to miss, as was the narrowing of those northern eyes. “What do you mean had enough of it already?”

Arya advanced on her and Sansa instantly realized her mistake. Even Sandor perked up at the admission, his eyes narrowing as well, the two of them looking more similar than they'd ever had. And she knew she was in trouble. Sansa sank back down into the armchair with her belongings, watching as her sister closed in on her and Sandor turned to give her his full, and angry, attention. She was sure he had thought something else might've happened, but to hear her actually say it out loud was another thing entirely. 

“Has he done this before?” Arya's voice was teetering on the edge between obscenely angry and deathly calm. “How long has this been going on, Sansa?”

She couldn't look at either of them, instantly feeling stupid and fragile for never standing up to Joffrey, for never fighting back and ending it, for letting it continue as long as it had, for keeping it a secret. She felt weak and dumb. She felt like she was letting them down.

“Long enough.” She answered, unable to quite put into words the demise of her relationship with Joffrey Lannister Baratheon.

“Why haven't you done anything about it?” The blame in her little sister's voice was heavy and washed over Sansa like a warm bath. Arya seemed to realize the effect of her tone and attempted to soften it as much she could. “What happened last night, Sansa.”

Sansa sighed, rubbing her face with her hands, avoiding the bruises and cuts as best she could. “We were fighting and he hit me. I fought him off best I could, but, Robert called and that ended it. He drove away and left me in the middle of kingsroad.”

“He fucking left you on the county highway?” Arya asked in angry disbelief. 

“Yeah.” Sansa wasn't even sure how to respond, hearing it coming out of someone else's mouth was a lot harder to hear than it coming out of hers.

“So, why did you call Clegane?” 

The curiosity in her sister's voice didn't go unnoticed by Sansa, nor could she blame her. If someone had told Sansa that she would call Sandor “The Hound” Clegane for help after a dire situation, she'd be curious too. She glanced over at the man in question, whose intense stare seemed to be wondering the same thing. He hadn't asked her why she called him, it hadn't even come up. She'd called, he came. It had been as simple as that. But, she could seen in his eyes he wanted to know. 

She sighed, “Because I couldn't call you guys, I couldn't. I don't even know how I'm going to go home and face the boys now, let alone last night. I couldn't call Jeyne, she's had enough of all this, she's been threatening to tell Robb or you for a while now and this would've been the last straw for her. Since Jeyne's my only close friend and she was out of the question, I just... started thinking of people we were close with that would help. Which, just happen to be all of your friends.” She looked pointedly at Arya and her sister rolled her eyes. “Brienne and Gendry would've told you, I knew Sandor wouldn't.”

The weird use of his first name didn't go unnoticed by Arya, who made a small face at the sound of his birth name from her lips. Sandor seemed a little affected by it as well, but he pretended that wasn't the case and closed himself back up into the impenetrable force he usually was.

Arya let out a large puff of air and sat down on the floor in front of Sansa, the energy seemed to be fading from her sister's body, even if the anger hadn't. “Alright, so, what are we gonna do?”

Sansa sighed as well, her eyes downcast. “I don't know.”

“You should've went to the hospital last night, Sansa.” Arya's tone was less angry and more concerned, for a moment Sansa thought to tell Arya of the great job Sandor did of patching her up. But, when the small flush came to her cheeks at the thought of how unabashed she'd been with him seeing her basically naked last night, she thought against it. “Had them file your injuries, pressed charges against him.”

“And what would've happened to Dad had I done that?” The quick anger in her tone took Arya back by surprise, but only for a moment – her sister lived in anger and could call on her own short temper any time. 

“I don't really think Dad would've cared if he lost his job because you pressed charges against that asshole.”

“You know it's more complicated than that, Arya.”

And it was. Ned and Robert had grown up together, they'd been friends longer than cellphones had been a thing, or The Simpsons had been on tv, they were close. But more than that, their father was loyal to a fault and twice as honorable. If he found out what Joffrey had done to Sansa, he'd kill him. And it would ruin a friendship that had lasted a dynasty. And it would be her fault. 

Robert was the Mayor of Westeros, her father was the District Attorney. Robert had offered Ned the job because he was a man that didn't trust many people and her father was as good as they came, he hadn't originally wanted to take it, he'd retired early after Bran's accident and hadn't practiced law in quite some time. But, a little coaxing from his old friend, almost brother, had her father saying yes. That had been six years ago.

Sansa wasn't sure of what to do, but she knew telling her parents, pressing charges against Joffrey, causing a scandal was not it. She just wanted to move on, to forget this ever happened. She wanted to live her life and make this a stain instead of a scar – just a little smudging over an otherwise happy life, not something that would reopen and fester forever.

“I don't give a shit if it's more complicated!” He sister yelled from her place on the floor, looking so much like the spoiled brat she had been in her youth. Thank god she had grown out of it. “No one can just walk around and beat you up, Sansa, especially not that fucking prick.”

“It's done, Arya.” She found herself looking down at her sister with that look their mother got when she was at her wits end, the tone of her voice leaving no room for an argument. “I just want to move on. I don't want to sit around and talk about how weak I am forever. I made a mistake, I trusted the wrong person and I paid for it. But, it's over. This is my life and I will handle it how I want, and what I want is for you to not talk about it any more and promise me right now that you're not going to tell anyone.”

Arya stared her down for a long moment, Sansa stared right back. She was aware of how the scene might look to Sandor, who was still seated on the couch, shoulder's haunched, forearms resting on his knees as he leaned forward and watched the two of them interact. It wasn't often he got to see it, seeing as how Sansa had deemed herself too cool to be seen with her little sister and her rag-tag group of friends. But, things were different now and she could easily see Sandor rolling his eyes at the two of them when this became a regular thing he encountered. Right now though, was not that time and he looked on curiously as they silently stared each other down.

Arya might've been as stubborn as her bull of a boyfriend Gendry, but Sansa was born of the same blood and was just as strong willed. The two of them weren't so similar by accident, after all.

Arya finally rolled her eyes and threw up her hands, “Fine. If this is the mistake you want to make, than fine. I won't tell anyone.”

Sansa narrowed her eyes at Arya, who was unable to not throw in a last ditch effort to guilt her into making the decision she thought was best for Sansa. It was fine, she was use to it, she did the same thing to Arya all the time. “Thank you.”

They both then turned to Sandor, who had been seated quietly and watching everything with those sharp metal eyes of his. Now that the attention was on him, he seemed to squirm under it. He cleared his throat and stood from the couch, growling out, “I'm making breakfast.” before ascending the stairs and leaving the two of them to follow.

Arya looked at Sansa once more, her grey eyes raking over her before settling back on her face, trying to figure something out that was just a little too hard for her to understand. She was good at reading Arya, sharing a room for ten years gave Sansa that advantage. “Come on.” Sansa stood, waiting for Arya to follow.

“What should I do about Robb?”

It was a legitimate question, one that needed an answer. Her siblings still thought she was missing, assuming the worst. Jeez, if they were about to get The Hound on her case, they must've really thought it was bad. She couldn't exactly blame them, she had missed curfew, hadn't called, and proceeded to sleep without her phone and accidentally ignore all their attempts at contacting her. They probably thought she was dead.

Sansa let out a sigh and ran a hand through the top of her hair, thinking. “Tell him you found me. I don't want him to actually combust.” They both smirked, thinking about how sometimes when Robb got super angry he tended to look like Violet Beauregarde – post blueberry. She bit her lip, looking a little lost. “I'm not sure if you should tell him I was here though, I don't want him to get the wrong idea.”

Sansa wasn't exactly sure what the “wrong idea” was, but she knew that she didn't want Sandor to be involved in it. He had already done enough for her.

“I'm not sure where to tell him you were, then.” Arya's brows were furrowed, not entirely sure what to make of her sister's request. “He knows you weren't at Jeyne's and if you say you were with Joffrey, he's going to draw the right conclusion all on his own.” She said pointedly.

Arya was right, she supposed she'd have to tell Robb the truth – at least part of it. She had to leave out the Joffrey part, she couldn't let them know, even if they suspected it to be him, she couldn't tell them. She would break up with Joffrey and she'd let them have their suspicions as to why, but she wouldn't confirm it. She couldn't.

She looked over at the staircase, chewing on her bottom lip thoughtfully. She hate to drag him further into her problems, but she'd have to ask him to lie for her. A small part of Sansa scoffed and recalled the way he'd offered to do something about Joffrey, if he was willing to go through all that trouble to rough up her asshole boyfriend, she was sure he'd be willing to lie for her. The bigger part of her, the more rational one, told her not to assume anything. They weren't friends, they weren't close, he could very well say no and there was nothing she could do about it.

Sansa sighed as she shook her head. “You're right. We'll tell him what happened, except for the part about Joffrey. We'll have to say it was a stranger, that I didn't see who it was.”

Arya looked at her skeptically, but thankfully kept her mouth shut about all the faults in her plan. All she did was shake her head and say, “Okay.” before climbing up the stairs where the smell of bacon was wafting from, Sansa trudging up the stairs behind her.

**Author's Note:**

> TELL ME YOUR THOUGHTS, GUYS.


End file.
